Aughisky think *differently*

[neotoma]

AKA 'check your assumptions at the door'

For mini_nanowrimo. This bit got away from me, and went off in weird directions. I think it works. Set before yesterday's bit.



Lying under Iros was usually no hard task. The aughisky required very little participation from Turnspit; returns of the licks he bestowed and the occasional caress was sufficient for him. Turnspit knew he was salving his conscience with passivity but the arrangement worked. Iros was satisified, he was protected, and both were as content as could be expected.

Which was why Turnspit really didn't want to answer Iros as they made to sleep. Sealchild's accusation of immorality cut deep, but was substantially true. Worse yet, Turnspit had no defense but necessity to the charge of engaging in immoral acts, and necessity was a thin shield when it came to virtue. He could have refused Iros' offered exchange; his despair in the mines was a personal weakness. He was still as careful of and obedient to the great laws as anyone could be in his circumstances, but he was trading the use of his body for safety, and not just his labor.

"You're thinking fuzzy thoughts," Iros told him as Turnspit finished folding his kilt. It was warm enough that they would not need to sleep under it, so he lay it on the shelf along the wall.

"Am I?" he asked, more occupied with removing his socks than with Iros' chatter.

"Yes. The Selkie-blood upset you. I can't retaliate; he's under the Stormbringer's own hand, not just part of the holding. But I could certainly find us space in the other stable."

Turnspit shook his head, and lay down under the sheet. It was cool, but would warm up soon enough. He watched at Iros stripped off the last of his gear, tossing it haphazardly about the narrow room, and held the sheet up for the aughisky.

"Don't bother," Turnspit said, as Iros snuggled close to him, "Everyone heard."

"Yes, they did," Iros nodded. "What was it that he called you? It must have been a great insult; the barking was loud."

Turnspit looked over at his bedmate. "Barking?"

"Barking, you know, barking." Iros spoke gibberish for a moment, until Turnspit realized he was imitating the sounds of Turnspit's old language.

"Barking. It sounds like barking to you?"

Iros smiled. "Yes, barking, and I can't understand it yet. So, what did he say?" he asked, as he leaned over to pet Turnspit's hair.

Turnspit hesitated a moment, drew it out by toying with the end of one of Iros' many braids. "He called me a catamite."

"Catamite," Iros repeated, rolling the word oddly, "What does it mean?"

"A boy kept for immoral purposes." Turnspit wondered vaguely how he'd gotten onto this topic, when all he had really wanted was to drag the sheets over his head, and pretend the evening had never happened. This never used to happen. I didn't have to think in the mine. His thoughts turned dark, I wasn't allowed to think in the mine.

"Immoral purposes? Like theft?" Iros asked, his eyes bright. "I wouldn't do that. Raiding is one thing, but theft is another. Anyway, you're not a boy; you're much too old."

"He meant buggery, Iros," Turnspit said. He really didn't want to get into a discussion comparing proper God-given ethics to the cock-eyed assemblage that passed for ethics among the aughisky.

Iros looked confused. "We don't do that – you don't like that, and it wouldn't be any fun if you were frightened. And how would he know, anyway. It's not like I invited him to join us." Then Iros tilted his head, "Did you?"

"Did I what?" Turnspit asked. He hadn't followed the last veer in the conversation.

"Invite him to join us," Iros explained. "He was your friend on the trip in, before you were set to the Brewster's Holding. Did you want to have him here? Is that why he's acting like a spoiled lapdog? I suppose he's attractive, if you like big broad oxen…"

"What? NO!" Turnspit yelped. He had to nip this off fast, because Iros had certainly gotten the wrong idea. "He is just a friend. Was just a friend."

"I fornicate with my friends," Iros said, his tone stubborn and suspicious. Is Iros jealous? Of Sealchild? Turnspit wondered.

"Not that kind of friend, Iros."

Iros looked inclined to argue. He muttered, "You're too good for that stupid ox, anyway," and stroked Turnspit's hair.

"Just let it go, Iros."

Iros sniffed. "If you want. But if he's still acting like a donkey in the morning, I'm going to kick him no matter who his protector is. Stormbringer won't kill me." He looked down at Turnspit. "And once the lord sees you, I'll see about getting you a woman. That'll shut up that idiot, if you cover some sweet little yellowdoe."

Turnspit was half-asleep under Iros' soothing fingers, but that did register. "What?!"

"I said, I'll find you—"

"I heard that. What did you mean by that?"

Iros snorted, his face breaking out into a grin. "You don't want a human female? I thought you liked them."

"I do," Turnspit said, "I just thought this," he waved a hand between them, "was exclusive."

"Exclusive? Turnspit, you're not that blind. I've been—"

"Exclusive on my part. You can do what you like, you're the protector here."

Iros' smile grew fond. "You're not my protectate, Turnspit. You're my Dog. And really, part of having a Dog is making sure there are more Dogs in the future, truer Dogs. We'll find you a female, with lots of Dog blood in her, after Lord Stormbringer gives you leave. Someone tall and willowy, with good lungs."

Turnspit muttered, "I'm getting tired of women taller than I am."

Iros chuckled, "Well, I suppose I could find you some fat little dumpling, if you'd rather."

"I like fat little dumplings. And why am I even talking about this! It's not going to happen!" Turnspit said, abruptly embarrassed at the whole discussion. He pulled the sheet up and turned over, very pointedly going to sleep.

Iros only chuckled again and put an arm over Turnspit, snuggling close.

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